


It's Like the Tale of the Moon and the Sun

by onlyasmallfish



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Arwen is just a side note, Cute fluffy things, I'm Bad At Tagging, LOTR trash, M/M, Sad, aralas - Freeform, no offence Arwen, why are these two so perfect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:56:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyasmallfish/pseuds/onlyasmallfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn is burdened by a demon that tears at his heart and is only relieved by the kiss of a butterfly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Like the Tale of the Moon and the Sun

The gaze of a new dawn sparkled over the snow-glazed peaks of the Misty Mountains. A golden spark glittered down and rested upon the lithe bough of a tree shivering off the last crystalline specks of winter. A leaf unfurled to bask in the glowing warmth of the sun but was soon blocked by a petal of palest pink, still rimmed with the kiss of the morning frost. It is the first of the blossoms to bloom, but last it is not. The tender awakening is thereafter followed by many more of its kind, the bleak, grey branches soon alight with colour. The sun smiled down warmly upon the blossoms, shy as stolen kisses, as they blinked up at the clearing sky of fading gold.  
  
A sparrow fluttered in the warmth of the morn, blinking its dark eyes that sparkled like amber in the now rising glow. She twittered her gratitude out loud in a clear voice that slid through the silence as a fish does through water, calm and sure but beautifully. With a twitch, she hopped to a new perch, barely rustling the branches. But, a bond more delicate than a spider's silk was broken as she lifted herself from the twig, allowing a single petal flutter downwards on its own breeze.  
  
It tumbled through the air lazily, yet gracefully, dancing in and out of the shafts of light that poured through air. Finally it came to rest upon an unusual bed, rather unlike the earthen resting place of the others so like it. No, it came to rest in the midst of a great plain. A plain of warmth as pale as starlight and soft as the caress of moonbeams. A place as curious as it was beautiful.

Upon feeling the scarce tickle of the petal coming to rest on his cheek, the golden archer's eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a fledgling but soon after, he rest once more.

* * *

  
Aragorn opened his eyes to the sound of birds chattering back and forth over his head in the morning light. He breathed deeply through his nose, inhaling the rich scent of the earth at its calmest, before the harsh rays of the midday sun beat down onto the baking ground. With a sigh he lifted himself from his bed of blankets and forest floor, wiping the last dregs of sleep from his eyes. He stood and gazed around, taking in the picture before him.  
  
Trees towered above, allowing only specks of light to twinkle down from the hidden sky. Green things pushed their eager noses up from the soil, some barely a whisper in the presence of the great oaks, in which small animals of many natures began their morning errands. A stream as clear as bird song trickled through Aragorn's fingers as he bent to wash his face and drink.  
  
Shaking his head, he flung his hair back, the tips clumped together in pointed spears from the water it had dipped in, droplets flying through the still air. Aragorn was about to lower his hands once again into the stream when a thought that had previously been clouded by sleep, tugged at his attention. He turned his head to look into his campsite and his gaze fell upon his bed, which was next to another. His was messy and jumbled, mixed with the dead leaves of last fall whilst the other was neat with folded bedclothes free of leaves and debris. The only similarly they shared was that both were empty of their rightful occupants.  
  
With a groan at his neglect, Aragorn stood and glanced around, searching for any trace that his companion may have left amongst their belongings. He spotted the familiar shape of the elven bow and quiver tucked behind a pack of similar craftsman as well as a cloak and boots he knew well. There was no hope in finding clues there so he walked slowly around their fire with eyes on the ground. The twin storms stopped at a marking in the dirt that was an unmistakable footprint. Too slender to be hobbit and too light to be that of a man. He followed the elvish tracks along a path that could only be known if you had walked down it, for, being made by the forest, it could not be seen by human nor halfling eyes.  
  
A turn at a lumpy tree; a left past the fox's burrow; a swift right along the edge of a brook; climb over a grey boulder. Aragorn lifted his body over the edge of the colourless crag and found himself in a clearing flooded by light.  
  
A small spring gurgled in the center of the clearing, surrounded by white stone, smoothed by the endless splashing of water upon its ghostly surface. There were pebbles of the same stone mixed in with the soft grass and the white flowers of the thyme scattered about the clearing. There were three trees, all in flower, the blossoms fluttering through the air like pink snow.  
  
Nestled in the crook of the largest tree lay a figure draped in sage green garb, their hair tossed over the branches; a beautiful contrast between grey and gold. Flecks of pink twinkled beneath the golden light filtering through the branches, causing the natural glow emitting from the sleeping figure to heighten. With a sigh of relief, Aragorn moved himself quietly to the elf's side. He reached out a hand to awaken his companion when he halted, as if someone had taken hold of his appendage. His hand hovered over his companion's sleeping form for a moment before he allowed it to drop to his side. Gazing down unto the porcelain face, his eyes, which had been wrought with worry, softened from threatening storms to the wisps of a raincloud.

In this rare moment, Aragorn's thoughts jumped at the opportunity and stole away with him to places he dared not speak of. Places where a companion stood at his side as more than a friend. Places where men were immortal. Places where elves weren't. Worlds where he triumphed. Worlds where he won. Libraries of leather bound books that held stories of knights and princes, of elves and men. Stories where bodies did not matter. Stories where love was the soul. The part of the mind where gold grew on trees and the rivers were wine, where all was perfection. A kingdom he ruled, with the Mirkwood prince as his queen.  
  
Aragorn shook his head, shattering the images like windows of ice. He found himself clenching his fists so tightly that when he released his fingers, they left ten crescent-moon marks on his palms. But that was not the source of the tears he found sliding down his cheeks, their salty taste seeping into his mouth.  
  
The pain he was feeling, was not something he was unfamiliar with. It was what he must suffer with each rise of the sun and long after the wake of the moon. It is a demon that tears at the heart. Ripping new holes, slicing new gashes and slashing new cuts each day. It is a demon that all are cursed by, but some are preyed upon more than one could ever imagine. It is a demon that goes by the name of love.  
  
With a great tearing in his chest, Aragorn let out a gasp of pain and let two more tears slip out from the edges of his eyes. Before him, his elven prince stirred in his slumber, shifting his head, thus allowing a few stray pieces of hair to tumble over his cheeks. Tenderly, Aragorn tucked them behind the pointed ear of his friend.  
  
But in his mind, he was screaming.

He was not simply a friend. He was the one companion, the only _partner_ that Aragorn desired. That he _needed_. But it was wrong. He was a prince. An elf and man? Never, it would be unthinkable. A maiden would be fine. The Evenstar of Rivendell, Arwen, had her eye on Aragorn. He should accept her. It would be _normal_. But, he was not normal. Were these feelings normal? Most certainly not. And accepting Arwen would mean living a lie. He could not lie to her. Or himself.  
  
Aragorn dropped to the ground, hunched over in despair at the foot of the cherry blossom tree in which the prince lay. Tears continued to stream down his browned and worn cheeks, dripping onto his knees and seeping into the fabric of his leggings.  
  
_Dreams. It was all fantasy. The prince of Mirkwood? Love him? Never. Not when he was competing against countless elven maidens who would not only live as long as their king, but would also grant him with something that Aragorn could never give. Heirs. He was doomed to a life of misery, a lie that could not be retold. A life that could never see the light._  
  
"Why do you cry, mellon nîn?" Aragorn felt fingers as soft and gentle as the voice lift his chin upwards. He had been too engulfed by his thoughts to know that the elf had awoken to the sound of his crying. His tear stained face looked helplessly up at one so angelic that the look of concern that was painted across it seemed almost criminal. Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when no words came. With a look of worry, Legolas lowered himself down gracefully from the branches to sit next to him in the long grass, placing his slender hand on top of the calloused one of his friend.  
  
"Tell me what ails you Aragorn. I am listening," he said quietly, as if afraid that a louder tone would break the man. Hearing his own name float out from between Legolas' lips, Aragorn discovered that he knew how to speak.  
  
"I....I cannot. For you would be disgusted," he replied, his voice quivering and straying far from that of a battle-hardened warrior.  
  
"There are few things that disgust me to the level that I would associate you with them. For anything like you could not possibly be considered disgusting." The elf was as surprised as the Dúnadan to hear the words in his own voice. Without thinking, Aragorn responded with a question.  
  
"Promise that you will not think less of me?" he burst, scolding himself for sounding so childish. However, Legolas answered without a second thought.  
  
"Promise."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Aragorn looked into the eyes of the elf before him. Stormy grey met cerulean blue and for a moment Aragorn thought he glimpsed something within the other but when he looked again, it was gone. Simply a fleeting shadow, lost in a mysterious ocean.  
  
"It is like the tale of the moon and the sun," he began, glancing downwards.  
  
"The moon was in love with the sun, who shone so bright and was loved by all." Legolas squeezed his hand slightly.  
  
"But the moon was lonely, for it had no light of its own." He forced himself to look back up at Legolas, even though it killed him.  
  
"So the moon died every morning so that the sun could breathe." He inhaled deeply.  
  
"And every day, moon watched sun from afar, because...their love could...never...."  
  
He faltered, lost in the deep blue of the eyes that seemed to get closer, and bluer. Closer, bigger....closed? His split second of confusion granted him with surprise as he felt something soft and warm touch his lips. If only for a moment. So sweet and small, like a butterfly.  
  
"....because their love had begun to grow," corrected a voice so quiet that it scarcely reached Aragorn's ears.  
  
He was stricken with shock as his mind registered what had happened, Legolas smiled coyly at him.  
  
"You're not the only one who has an ending to that story," he whispered with a wink, placing his lips upon Aragorn's once again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at Lord of the Rings fanfiction, I hope it has come out as planned. If you would like to see more LOTR, please let me know, I am open to suggestions and constructive criticism. Thank you very much to everyone who has read my silly little story!


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